


Won't Cross These Streets (til you hold my hand)

by hazel1706



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, and steve being anxious, it's just..... real soft, they smoke some pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel1706/pseuds/hazel1706
Summary: some good old-fashioned mutual pining, feat. very late valentine's day gifts and steve's lack of brain-to-mouth filter when he's high
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 9
Kudos: 154





	Won't Cross These Streets (til you hold my hand)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a tumblr post and if i could figure out how to link it i would lol  
> i also posted this fic on tumblr, check it out or just come say hi if u wanna :) my url is magniloquent-raven

Valentine’s Day was a month ago. Steve had, on a whim, bought a box of chocolates. The heart-shaped box kind. It was a deep shade of red, and, because he wasn’t drunk when he bought it, the least frilly one he could find. 

It was a completely normal thing to do in early February. Especially for a guy like Steve. He might have been dethroned and dumped for the school creep but he was still rich and good-looking, people expected him to be putting himself out there. It had been months since he and Nancy broke up, enough time for him to have moved on. 

And he had. Moved on. Hence the Valentine’s Day gift. 

He was sweaty and anxious the whole time he was in the store, worried that someone might look at him and just _know._ Know who the chocolates were for. 

No one did, because it was a dumb thing to worry about, but he still left with his heart in his throat and his palms sweating through his gloves. 

He drove home a little faster than normal that day, and his hands shook as he unlocked the front door. 

Once Steve got inside he stared at the bag in his hand. Stared at it, and... God, this was such a stupid idea. This was the kind of shit he did for girls he liked, back before Nancy. He could just walk up to them in the cafeteria and their friends would giggle and blush and it was all so _easy_ , but this...

He couldn’t do that with Billy. Nothing about this situation was easy. 

The chocolates ended up shoved in Steve’s sock drawer, and he spent the next month trying to forget the whole thing. 

Which is hard because he and Billy are _friends_ now. At first it was a silent truce. A shared cig here and there while they were waiting for the kids. Then there was Billy’s muttered apology, and Steve’s tentative forgiveness. 

Then suddenly Billy was everywhere, and Steve... Well, Steve apparently hadn’t learned much from getting his heart broken before because he fell hard. Again. 

So now they’re hanging out in Steve’s back yard sharing a blunt and he’s trying really hard not to think about how his mouth is touching something that Billy’s mouth also touched because he’s apparently been transformed into a twelve-year-old who’s never been kissed and gets worked up about shit like that. 

It’s, frankly, very embarrassing. 

“--and I _told_ her, it wasn’t happening, but--” Billy’s rambling about something, smoke trailing from his lips, and Steve isn’t hearing a single word. “--Harrington?” Steve blinks a couple times. Refocuses. “You with me, man?”

“Um.”

Billy snorts, “Yeah, didn’t think so.” He’s grinning though, slow and lazy. He only smiles like that when he’s high, like he’s shed a couple layers of whatever keeps him wound so tight when he’s sober. “S’cool.”

“So, uh, what were you...?” Steve rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, and looks away. It’s easier to listen to Billy when he isn’t looking at him. His face is...distracting. His everything is distracting, actually.

“Ugh, fuckin’ _Amy_. Chick won’t leave me alone. It’s annoying.”

Right. Billy’s endless line of suitors. Steve’s favourite thing to talk about. He shrugs in a way he hopes is non-committal. “She’s cute though.” He glances at Billy, who’s wrinkling his nose. 

“Why don’t _you_ date her then,” he grumbles. 

“I did. Sort of. Sophomore year I bought her flowers for Valentine’s Day and then we hooked up a couple times.” He immediately regrets bringing it up. It reminds him of the aborted Valentine’s Day gesture stuffed in his dresser. Thinking about it _ever_ is awkward, but doubly so when Billy’s sitting right next to him.

“Right, forgot you used to do that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Girls.”

Steve chokes on his spit. “You’re an asshole,” he coughs, while Billy cackles at him and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Billy hums. His expression settles into something more pensive. “You didn’t do anything this year though. You’re not still hung up on Wheeler are you?”

“No!” he says it too quickly, too vehemently. Billy raises his eyebrows. “I mean-- I-- I’m not. I was gonna do something but--” Steve’s whole face feels like it’s on fire and he bites his tongue. Literally. He clenches his jaw to keep any more words from coming out. Billy’s hand is still on his shoulder and it feels like a lead weight. 

“Oh yeah?” His voice is light but Steve can feel Billy’s fingers tighten on his sleeve, clutching at his shoulder. Steve’s brain goes a little fuzzy. “Why didn’t you?”

He cannot have this conversation. He can’t. It shouldn’t happen. He repeats it, in his head, panicking and anxious, guts in a knot, but the words slip out anyway. “No point. It... wouldn’t have gone over well.”

“Come on, King Steve’s afraid of a little rejection now?” 

Yes. Terrified. 

Maybe it’s the weed making him stupid. Or maybe he just wasn’t that bright to begin with. Or maybe monster hunting has made him reckless even in the face of fear, because he stands then, tells Billy to wait and walks into the house.

His body feels numb. There’s nothing but the roar of his heartbeat and a sick, anxious twist in his stomach.

The box is a little squashed. There’s a crease in the cardboard lid, a jagged line across the length of it. 

It feels like he’s barely had time to blink before he’s in his back yard again, looking down at Billy. He’s sitting on one of the lounge chairs, blinking at Steve. His button-up is askew, hanging off to one side and half-unbuttoned, his eyes are a little blood-shot, his hair is tangled from the breeze, and Steve’s never seen anyone more beautiful. 

He drops the box in Billy’s lap.

“There’s no note or anything. I... didn’t think I’d actually... It’s been sitting in my sock drawer for a month because I was too chicken-shit to tell you that I-- anyway, that’s for you. It’s for you, ok? And that’s why I didn’t do anything for Valentine’s Day, because I’ve liked you for months and I knew it was _stupid_ to do anything about it, but, well, no one’s ever accused me of being smart.” Steve lets out shaky breath that’s half sigh, half self-deprecating laugh. He feels like he’s about to shake apart, he’s trembling so hard. 

Billy hasn’t said anything. He’s staring at the box in his lap, putting his hands around it real careful like he’s afraid to break it. Or afraid it’s going to explode. Honestly, Steve can’t read how he’s feeling about the whole thing but he’s bracing himself for the worst when Billy finally looks at him, wide-eyed. “You...I...” he trails off, then shakes his head, laughing. 

And... it’s not the _worst_ thing that could have happened. But it still hurts. Steve’s getting ready to bail so he can cry himself to sleep when Billy stands up, a weird look in his eye. “Wait here,” he says, and walks off. Which. What.

Forty-five excruciatingly long seconds later Steve (who hasn’t moved, can’t, he’s panicked and frozen) feels a hand on his shoulder.

Billy’s back, and...

He shoves something crumpled and pink into Steve’s hands. 

“That’s been in the glove-box of my car for a month.” It shows. The edges are bent and there’s a split up one side of the lid. There’s a bow on it, squished beyond saving, with a little card hanging off it that says _pretty boy_ in smudged ink. “Couldn’t keep in in the house ‘cause I got drunk and fuckin’ _wrote_ on it, like an idiot,” Billy’s fidgeting with his hands, not looking at Steve.

He looks _nervous_ , even though Steve was the one who brought this shit up in the first place, even though Billy already _knows_ Steve has feelings for him. Even though Billy Hargrove never gets nervous. 

Steve’s heart is so full it hurts. “I kind of love you,” he blurts, too loud and extremely unsmooth. He can’t feel embarrassed about it though, because Billy finally looks at him and the look on his face takes Steve’s breath away. 

He’s got this tiny little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are wide and wet and _hopeful,_ and who gave him the right to have eyes that blue, and his _freckles_ \--

Billy’s standing a lot closer than he was before, and Steve’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe entirely by this point. Which is fine, because he can feel Billy’s hand sliding across the back of his neck, threading through his hair, and if this is how he dies then so be it. 

And then Billy presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, to his nose, his forehead, so softly, cradling his face like it’s something precious and Steve is so happy he could _cry_. 

“Oh,” he breathes, quiet, afraid to break the moment. 

Steve can feel Billy’s smile again his cheek, “Yeah,” he says, breath hot in Steve’s ear.

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t need to. Steve pulls him close and kisses him soundly and he knows he’s loved too.


End file.
